


Pegasus:  Five Coping Mechanisms

by lunabee34 (Lorraine)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:36:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/pseuds/lunabee34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for SGA Flashfic's Coping Mechanism Challenge; one drabble for each of the five coping mechanisms (denial, avoidance, repression, substitution, and fantasy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pegasus:  Five Coping Mechanisms

**Denial**

He’s better this way—stronger, faster. Better. He’s wasted more Wraith in the past six months than he killed in his entire stint on SGA-1. He matters; he can make a difference for Pegasus, for Atlantis. Ford drags the edge of a knife over his cheeks, along his jawline, down the curve of his throat until his face is smooth. He flicks his face with water and dries off with a towel. For a moment, all he sees in the pocket mirror Jace gave him is the alien horror of his left eye but Ford shakes that off. He’s _better_.

**Avoidance**

“I do not know if I am ready.”

“None of us are ever ready, Teyla. Not for something like this.” Dr. Walley’s voice is sympathetic but Teyla cannot tell what she thinks, not really. Not in the way she could read Kate.

Teyla takes a deep breath—one, two, three—and then exhales through her nose. Her hands are shaking.

“We’ll do this together,” Dr. Walley says and opens the door to the balcony. Stretched out in front of her is the whole wide ocean of the world and all Teyla can see is Kate’s hair spiraling upward like flames.

**Repression**

Ronon’s quarters on Atlantis are completely bare but for the linens and toiletries he was issued. He owns more than one set of clothing now; this is a luxury he feels he can afford, especially since too many days in the same leather announces his presence in a way his footfalls never will again. Sometimes he runs his fingers through the dust that accumulates on the surface of his empty desk, writes words that no one in this place can read and watches them slowly wear away. Ronon sees how all marks he makes on Atlantis might be similarly erased.

**Substitution**

“Yes, yes. Very funny,” Radek says and makes an insulting gesture in Rodney’s general direction. Removing the beads from his hair will take hours and he hopes the paint will not stain his skin as it stained his clothes. But Radek cannot help smiling hours later when those beads stretch out in a row along his desk—this one Emron, this one Kalia and these two Bilva and Mot. All gloriously obnoxious and with their whole lives ahead of them. Radek is no fool. He can see that M7G-677 is the closest he’ll ever get to children of his own.

**Fantasy**

“When this is over,” Rodney thinks, “Sheppard will fly us home and I’ll sleep for forty-eight hours and everything will be fine.” But how will he know if this is truly over? How will he ever know for sure when every time he closes his eyes in death he opens them again to see Oberoth? As always, Rodney will make answers where none exist, and so this time when he closes his eyes in death, he opens them to Sheppard.

“Who the hell are you people?” Sheppard asks Oberoth.

When has Rodney ever looked a gift horse in the mouth?


End file.
